Dark Sacrifice
by Stormravan
Summary: When an ancient being awakens, will he herald the dawn of new hope, or will he be the final blow to an already endangered race? Will one wary and vulnerable mage-child prove to be the key to salvation, or tip the balance to unleash a devastating evil?
1. 1st Prolog

**Dark Sacrifice**

_By Stormravan_

**Disclaimer: The world of the Carpathians, and many of the characters used here were created by, and belong to, Christine Feehan. All non-original aspects are merely my own restless imagination at work and are no more than an amateur's tribute to a beloved series.**

_Author's Note: This story has been building in my head since somewhere around Dark Magic. I've always been fascinated by beginnings. (Which is a really pointless quest when you think about it, because there's always something that happened before that, and before that, and before that . . .) This is an attempt to answer, in my own head at least, the questions for a number of beginnings. Timeline-wise I would place this tale somewhere after Dark Guardian, but no later than Dark Melody._

_Though I don't believe there is anything in this that will contradict set 'world rules/facts' (can't remember the word for some reason) it's possible I missed something. If so, just think of it as an alternate world or something. The story following this, if I ever get around to writing it, definitely diverges storyline. So what the hey - might as well start thinking of it as separate now._

* * *

Prolog One - _The Distant Past_

He was the last.

Ransom stared at the blood on his hands, feeling it's acid bite into his skin. There should be something.

A tear. A pang of grief. _Something._

But as he called cleansing fires to consume the still thrashing body of the Fallen he realized that all that remained for him was a distant sense of regret. No. Not even regret. Merely the knowledge that he should . . . that there ought to be . . . something.

It wasn't right. Absently, he cauterized his wounds, burning away the poison left by sharpened nails. So great a man's passing should be not be simply another hunt, another duty performed.

But it was. His own hand had ensured that this bleak, grey reality would be all that he, all that _any_ of the males of his race would have in the end. And a part of him wondered if it was really preferable to the demon-crazed madness it had replaced.

His task finished, Ransom took to the air, turning instinctively for home. His sister and her Chosen would be waiting for him there. It was a habit now, established long ago, when the horror and grief of their lives had been new and almost unrelenting. When the wrenching pain of being forced to hunt down males he had respected and admired his entire life as though they were beasts had been too much to bear in solitude. Later it had been cousins and playmates who had fought with a savagery beyond belief for a life now forever beyond their grasp. And still later there were the fledglings he had seen born, had taught, counseled, now turning in despair to the darkness that stalked them even as they cursed his name for the barren existence he had given them.

He had needed his sister then, for her gentleness and cheerful mischief to wash him clean. Her, and her beloved; for even in a race long accustomed to wonders their bond was a singular miracle, all the more because Lucerna would keep Magnus forever tied to the light. Here, he knew was one soul he would never have cause to hunt. But now darkness pressed hard upon him and, though her presence brought a form of peace, not even his sister could revive emotions faded far past recall.

He touched down in the garden his sister had first planted so many centuries ago. To cheer his cell, she'd claimed. He hadn't had the heart to inform her that colors had long since vanished from his world. Instead he'd breathed in the scents filling the air, complimented her choices, then carefully professed a manly ignorance of shrubbery. Her laugh had still held the power to warm him then, however dimly. Reaching out now, he touched a fingertip to a single velvet petal.

"Ransom?"

He turned, a teasing smile on his face. "I think this one needs more work, little queen. The poor thing threatens to snap under the weight of its own head. Or is it bowing out of respect for your presence?" He looked back at it as though contemplating the possibility.

"Of course." Lucerna raised her chin with a haughty air. "Even flowers are able to recognize greatness when it is so much about them. You should learn from them. A little respect and subserviency would do much to better you."

"Ah, but respect for whom? Certainly not for the fledgling who put slugs in a Jaguar Lord's bed. Or calmly informed his daughter that fruit bats were Fallen who simply had execrable skills in disguise."

"I had to do something. The little minx was making eyes at Magnus, and her father had called you a half-bred bastard. You didn't seriously expect me to let pass insults like that did you."

"Expect, no. But one might have hoped," he said with a long suffering sigh.

"Poor brother mine. Disappointment follows disappointment does it not?."

His hand slowly fell away from the bloom.

"I fear so." He hesitated, reluctant to utter words that could only bring pain. But it could not be hidden. "Tarkos has Fallen. To darkness then fire."

"No! Oh, no." Gently he gathered Lucerna into his arms. Shock and tears had her clinging to his steady frame. Here, in her, was all the grief he could not feel. "But he was strong. He was good! I could feel it. Why would he give in? We _needed_ him. Why!"

"Despair is a patient foe, Luce, and requires only a single moment of weakness, of opportunity, to slay. Tarkos always felt things deeply, even for one of our race, and thus was his darkness so much stronger when it came. He did not speak of it because so many depended on him, but he felt it's choking grasp with every breath. These past years he has been racing to teach the fledglings all they needed. He knew, warned me, that he might wait past his strength. And when he finally Fell, it was in defense of those he taught."

A mere breath of movement, then Magnus was there, reaching for his Chosen.

"Remember who he was," Ransom said, releasing her to Magnus. "Not that which destroyed him. He is deserving of all honor."

Magnus folded her into his embrace, resting his cheek against her hair, offering his beloved what meager comfort he could grant.

'_I left Cassana puttering in the workroom,'_ Magnus sent privately. _'May I leave her to your protection while I see to my mate?'_

'_I accept her charge.'_

'_My thanks. The Magi's delegate awaits you. He seems much troubled.' _

'_As are we all in these times, my friend. As are we all.'_

* * *

"More wine?" Ransom offered.

The magi declined with a wave. Instead the youth held the empty goblet before him and stared brooding into the fire, watching as the flames fractured and danced through the glass. His gaze searched its depths, as though it held precious answers if only they could be understood. Vadias' family had long been intermediaries between the two races, their calm and easy ways soothing the occasional spark of friction. Ransom knew them well. Magi did not live so long as his own people of course and he had worked with several generations in his role as leader. Over time he had come to know the strength of the line, their honor and integrity. Had come to trust them as he trusted none other but his sister and her mate. They had spoken for much of the night of formal matters. But talk had given way to pensive quiet.

"What troubles your heart this eve, youngling?"

The magi was silent for a time, till Ransom was unsure he would answer. But, finally, he softly spoke. "The Seeress has had a vision. A vision of two futures, turning on a single factor. The survival of your race. Both are . . . dark. So terrible. But in one there is hope, a guiding light in the end, for all races. The other . . . death and madness only. Evil finally, utterly triumphant."

"A grim prospect."

"Yes." Vadias slowly set aside the goblet and turned to face Ransom. "Tell me, Ancient One, how much longer will your honor hold?"

Ransom raised a brow then gestured a negation. "My honor is no danger. Were it to break it would have done so long ago. But that is not your true question, is it."

Moving to the window he looked out on the silvered forest. His people had come to love the night, its peace and mystery. But did he? Once he'd hated it. Once it had reminded him of all they had lost. That had been long ago, before his emotions began to fade. He had found a measure of acceptance since then, for what could not be changed if nothing else. But had he ever seen the beauty his people did? He could not recall.

"I am the last, Vadias. This eve I was forced to slay the only other of my kind left who remembered what it was to walk under a gentle sun. Even my sister was born after the Burning. The memory of the people we once were grows dimmer with each generation. And what has taken its place? Distrust. Savagery. Terror. For one half, only an eternal barren existence to look forward to. For the other, endless fear and caution. The most cherished and sacred of our ways have come to be regarded with trepidation and a careful assessment of risks. We were always a warrior race, but now even our gentlest women are forced to fight and hunt. Do you know what that does to our females? They have always been the best, the most compassionate of our race. Now they train to battle those who have been friends, family. Children. Even their own Chosens. All to often they choose to follow their beloveds to the grave. With each generation the despair grows. Our numbers dwindle. Our males succumb ever more quickly to the Corrupter's curse. Our women grow ever more fearful.

"Some are able to live in denial, but I have not that luxury. We will not last much longer as a race. All too soon the Fallen will outnumber us. Eventually they will reign unchallenged. I can only pity the world when that day comes." He turned to Vadias. "I pity it, but I have no desire to see it."

"Then you have decided?" Vadias asked, his breath catching in his lungs.

"Not the time or place, but yes, I will follow path of honor and greet the sun."

"You can't!" They both spun to find little Cassana, pale but determined, standing in the doorway. "You mustn't! That's not how it's supposed to happen." Streaking across the room she threw herself in her uncle's arms. "You can't go. You can't!"

Ransom held the trembling child gently, pushing away his awareness of the throbbing blood in her veins, even as he searched his own mind. Yes, he had known she was there. She'd heard the whole dreadful conversation. And he'd known. Why hadn't he protected her? Was he even closer to the darkness than he'd believed? "Sshh, shh, little one. It's all right."

"No! You can't go. You gotta build the bridges. You gotta make it right!" She clung to him as though terrified he'd vanish that very instant. "If you go the monsters'll get us. They'll come and take Momma, and Poppa'll fight them, and they'll cut him and cut him and - and - and - I don't want him to cut Poppa. You've gotta stop him. We've gotta save him!"

"Hush. Calmly, little one. Stop who?"

"My lifemate. We've gotta save him, we gotta!"

"Your - what?!" Swiftly he contacted Magnus, relaying the situation and Cassana's words.

"_Her rest has been uneasy for some time now."_ With a soothing touch Magnus brushed his daughter's mind - and drew back in shock. _"How? It runs in our line, yet she's but a child!"_

'_It would seem age is no longer a bar. What has she seen?'_ Images flooded his mind, half formed, and filtered through a child's understanding, yet clear in their meaning. Hope. At last his people had hope. And then he stiffened as the import of the vision struck home. He stared down at his niece, half in awe, half in mounting dismay.

* * *

Dawn approached. Ransom rested his arms on the balustrade, watching the sky color and brighten. His skin prickled in the early light, though it would be some hours yet before he was forced to go to ground. Or not. He had thought his decision set some months ago. Had been waiting only for the arrangements for another to step into his place. And now . . .

Now he must decide once more, with the risks on each side raised immeasurably. And the decision must be made this morn. Finally. Irrevocably. If he chose to live, there could be no looking back, no regrets. Not a single moment of vacillation.

How easily other races spoke of death, of the loss of one's life as the ultimate sacrifice. But death was a paltry, near meaningless gift in many ways. A return to the Creator's light, however excruciating or tortured the transition, was no ill fate, for on that path lay the end of sorrows, of pain, of grief. An eternal perfect peace.

Not so the loss of one's soul.

And that was what he faced. He had no illusions on that score. The weight of time already wearied him, grinding him down with ceaseless friction. Yet the time he had lived would be but an eye blink compared to what he would see if he took up the gauntlet once more. True there had been a vague sense of rest near the end of the vision. But only after long, empty years. Century upon century of struggle against loneliness, against desolation, against the evil inside him. He would wait past any chance of greeting the sun. The claws of the predator would be sunk too deep inside him for any chance such of easy end. His honor was strong, an integral part of his being. But could it survive the near endless journey his task set for him? If it did not, if his soul were lost . . . he would unleash a demon as had never been seen, with powers unmatched by any now living.

And yet, if Ransom did not take up the task, he was at best condemning his race to extinction. At worst, he was condemning the world to exactly the fate Vadias had described. Death and madness. A reign of eternal evil.

"Are you well, brother?" Lucerna asked softly from behind him. He was silent as she paced forward. She came to a stop at the rail, less than a foot away, and gripped it loosely. Absently, he called up cloud cover to shade them, leaving the horizon clear. Around them came the sounds of the sunlight realm waking, responding to the slowly lightening sky, the gentle rays of a loving daystar.

"I have never before thought myself a coward, Luce."

There was a short, stunned silence.

"You are not." She spoke flatly. She tightened her grip on the rail. "There are faults enough to lay at your door, but that has never, _will_ never, be one of them."

"Won't it? What else can it be called when a male sees the possible salvation of his people and yet desires to selfishly turn aside? What is that, if not cowardice?"

"The instinct for self preservation."

"The two are not so very far removed. Sometimes by no more than a very thin thread."

"But they are separate. The gap may be thin, but it is infinitely deep. And there is as much chance of you crossing it as there is of stopping the advance of the starry heavens." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "There is no shame in the honest recognition of risk. Only in letting it overwhelm you. It was you who taught me that."

Ransom looked at her hand for a long moment, then sighed, covering it with his own, and turned back to the dawning sky. "What am I to do, little queen? Both choices are perilous. Not simply for me, but for all. If I should turn . . . By then I doubt there would be any strong enough to slay me. It is an unacceptable risk. And yet, how can I deny our people hope?"

Lucerna, stepped closer, her arms coming up to hold him from behind. She rested her forehead on his back. "I think, I must be the selfish one. I do not want to lose you. But neither can I bear your pain."

He grasped her arm at his waist and squeezed it gently. "I feel it not."

"But I do," she whispered. Of course. Her empathic abilities would allow her to sense what he could not. He should have realized. But then, perhaps he had not wished to. Emotional pain was, ultimately, a private, intimate, experience. To realize his own had been forced upon his cherished sister, when he himself was helpless to sense, let alone prevent it, was a bitter thing. Harder still was the realizing the pain he must have unknowingly inflicted with his decision to greet the sun. She must have remained silent in respect for his privacy, but she would have known.

"I can urge neither course," she finally said. "My heart will not allow it. Is there no other way? No other that may take up the task?"

And there lay the hard truth, the only possible decision. For the answer was no. There was no other. His abilities, his heritage, was unique, unreplicable. It had been so since the Cataclysm.

Sensing his response, Lucerna tightened her hold, as though trying to take his pain into herself.

"I suppose all we can do is trust in the Creator and hold to this chance he has given us," she said.

'If he did not die in the Burning along with everyone else,' he thought, but did not speak the words aloud. He would never share that particular sentiment with her, had hidden it deep within his mind for all their long lives. She'd had so little to comfort her, he could not deny her any further shred of hope. "I will be well, little queen. Your Chosen and daughter await you to take their rest. It is best you go to them."

She hesitated, her arms unwilling to loose their grasp. He squeezed her arm gently. "I will greet you on the eve. You have my word."

She nodded, though sorrow shadowed her eyes. Releasing him, she quietly exited the balcony, knowing he would wish a moment of privacy. For a long time he simply gazed out at the dawn, till his eyes began to tear and weep. Then, with a deep breath, Ransom squared his shoulders and turned his back forever on the rising sun.

* * *

Note: fixed a few details, nothing major. Still getting the hang of this.


	2. 2nd Prolog

**Okay, after looking at the timeline in the books, I have to amend my statement. The events of this prolog/chapter would take place after Dark Melody. The events of the main story will be some years in the future.**

* * *

Prolog Two - _Eight Years Past_

Miri crept into the book lined study, breath held against making the slightest sound. True, access had never been specifically denied her. But it wouldn't be unusual for someone to evict her from a room, merely because her presence annoyed them. Once evicted, she'd have to beg Tibelda to let her return, or the study would be forever beyond her reach. And Tibelda was unlikely to erase this restriction. After all it wasn't as though Miri could read. The study would have no practical use for her. No use at all, really.

Except one.

Empty. Miri let out a sigh of relief, then hastily, if gently, closed the thick wooden door. It was her birthday, her tenth, even if no one here knew it, or cared, but her. That merited a little risk.

The big comfortable room was filled wall to wall with shelves; some holding odd artifacts, strange stone carvings that repelled even as they attracted touch; some holding what she assumed were business records, with lots of numbers. Those were by the desk, with the huge leather chair. A small set of freestanding shelves held music CDs and a sound system. But mostly they held books, old-old books, with woodcuts and crumbling pages. Loads of tightly handwritten journals. She had paged through them once, one drowsy summer day when the Monster was gone on another trip and the manor had been deserted, except for her and Tibelda – and Tibelda's lover. She'd known there was little chance then of being interrupted, and had allowed her curiosity free reign. That had been the day she'd found her song. She'd been leafing through one of the journals, speculating over what kind of person had wrote it, what kind of mood they'd been in each time the handwriting altered, when the CD she'd been listening to had ended and she'd reached for the next in the stack.

The first phrase had hit her like an electric shock. So achingly beautiful. So hauntingly familiar. Since then she had returned to the study again and again, slipping in like a shy ghost, desperate to hear that taste of home.

Almost shaking with eagerness now, she went to the rack of music CDs and searched through the collection. There was a brief moment of panic when she found it gone, but no, it had just fallen behind one of the stacks. With the greatest care she removed the disc and slipped it into the player.

The music came, softly at first, then with greater surety. Tripping on fairy feet, her father had said. Then he'd laughed and looked at her, and she'd known he was remembering catching her sneaking into the garden late one night. 'To meet the fairies' she'd said. She only vaguely recalled the picture book that had been the cause of the infraction. But she remembered her father's face as he composed this piece. Wonder and delight, and the joy of creation. He'd said he was going to name it after her, after all it was only fair. She stroked the case.

Had he? She had no one she dared ask. Daddy had always kept his word. He probably had.

She had so few memories left of her parents that each one was infinitely precious. The smell of warm bread baking after her mother, with much shared laughter, had shown her the process of kneading the dough till it was just right. Tucking her into bed at night with 'just one more story'. A spring morning after a week of rain, when her parents had declared it a perfect picnic day. Small, everyday things, like how her father always slathered his pancakes in butter and real maple syrup. How they insisted on a goodbye kiss from each other every morning, one with all the 'mushy stuff', even though Daddy was only going down the stairs to his basement studio.

But this one was clearest. The music sharpened the memory until once more her feet were flying, the sound of her father's laughter in her ears. She allowed herself to be lost in the music, her untrained body moving with a graceful ease that would have surprised anyone acquainted with her normal frightened, clumsy, movement. Song after song played out while she remembered a different time, so far away.

The door opened suddenly, leaving her frozen mid-step. The Monster had arrived.

She knew his name, it had been beaten into her long ago, but to her he would always be what her childish mind had labeled him after he'd first kidapped her. Neither ugly, nor handsome, dark nor fair, he had the sort of anonymous air that allowed a man to slip away from a crowd with a young child in tow. No one had stopped him. No one had so much as noticed him. Even she had not initially considered him a threat. Not when her feet had moved of their own volition, not when her throat had closed on her scream, not when her face had stilled into a mask of meek compliance. She'd been too confused and frightened at first to realize the man leading her away was the cause of it all. He had just seemed so . . . unlikely. No, she had not thought him a monster then, but she had learned the truth of him all too quickly after.

"Sir." Miri gulped, quickly ducking into the quick curtsy Tibelda had drummed into her. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten to check behind her and her foot struck one of the freestanding CD racks, sending cases scattering across the floor. She sucked in a breath in horror. Miri stared back at the Monster, and waited, trembling, for her punishment to begin. Wishing, desperately, that running had not been forbidden her.

The Monster scowled at her for a moment, and then an unusual, unnatural good humor seemed to return him. He moved into the room, settling into the big leather chair. His eyes glowed with what appeared unholy triumph.

"Clumsy as ever eh, Bait? Not to worry. Your cares will soon be over. You're finally going to earn your keep from these past years. That's right," he said, "I've found the cave."

Miri's heart clenched. This could not be good.

"What, no congratulations?" he mocked. "No, pat on the back? No, 'thank you, Carmine, for helping me fulfill my reason for existence?' Some people's children. No manners."

He shook his head, then looked her up and down. "Well you're not going to get the discipline you deserve today, since I need you ready for travel in the morning, so you might as well start picking up." He turned his back to her, reaching for the business papers on the desk.

Shakily, Miri bent and began retrieving the CDs, praying she could recall the order. She had memorized the arrangement after the first time she had been here, not willing to risk any sign that could be discovered and end her access. But her mind was distracted by the Monster's words, and the near miss of punishment. She put the green-leaves case in the middle of the fuzzy-art-with-all-those-violins series and was halfway through the rack before she realized the mistake.

The cave. He was always going on about the cave. And about power. And vampires. It had scared her silly until she had gotten old enough to realize vampires were like the boogeymen, stories made up for the fun of the chills. Then she had gotten older than that, and realized that even if _she_ knew better, the Monster didn't. He believed it, every word he said. And he thought Miri was the key to entrapping one. Then she had just been terrified spitless.

Her cares were soon to be over. What did it mean? It wasn't the first time he'd said something like that. Though never in a way that sounded so . . . close. But he'd never explained. Miri thought he liked tormenting her with the uncertainty. Was he going to kill her? Return her? What?

Travel! She was finally going to leave this place! After so long confined to the manor grounds, the thought of leaving it was heady, until she recalled that, whatever the destination, it was unlikely to benefit _her._ But maybe, just maybe, he would slip. He'd had her controlled for so long, in a place where the rules were all set, that maybe he wouldn't realize that most of those rules only applied here. All she had to do was behave until she got a good opening.

If she lived that long.

Finished, she stood beside his desk, waiting patiently for permission to leave. She'd learned _that_ lesson in a hurry. He kept her waiting till she wondered if he actually had forgotten her, then looked up.

"Done already, Bait? Good." He nodded, giving her a dismissive glance. "Report to Tibelda. She'll prepare you for tomorrow."

* * *

She never had a chance.

The Monster and his minions had gathered in the echoing entry hall early the next morning. Tibelda had woken Miri out of sound slumber before dawn had even lit the sky, hustling her through a cold breakfast, and then out to wait for the Monster and his companions. They had come trickling in, some of them grumbling at the early start, others buoyed up by that same sick triumph she had seen in the Monster yesterday. When the Monster had stepped in the room they had gathered, eager disciples at their master's feet. He had given what she supposed was an inspiring speech.

She wouldn't know. In her nervousness, the cold milk from breakfast was having an unfortunate effect on her stomach, and its lurching distracted her at regular intervals.

At last the talking had ended and the minions had begun gathering up suitcases, coats, and hats. One of the favored took the Monster's as well as his own, because, after all, the Monster couldn't be expected to handle his own like a commoner, now could he?

And then her hopes for escape had ended. The Monster walked over to her, seemed to study her for a moment, and then spoke.

"From this moment on you will do nothing without my permission, except breathe and blink. You will follow every command without delay, in exactly the manner I intend, then wait, without moving, for my next command."

Miri felt the restrictions settle around her like steel chains. A part of her wanted to scream denial, but not so much as whimper escaped.

* * *

The long journey was a nightmare. Much like the day the Monster had first taken her, she walked when he said walk, sat when he said sit, ate when he remembered to feed her, and slept whenever he became tired of her hate filled stare. For days they traveled, at first by plane, then by car, and finally on foot as they reached ground no vehicle could traverse, moving ever deeper into the tall mountains. At times one of the minions carried her. Not out of compassion, but because the restrictions left her helpless. They wished to take no chances of losing their bait.

And then they were moving down, into tight, restrictive tunnels, and great echoing caverns. Some of them were so beautiful they made her heart ache, even as they made the horror of her journey that much more surreal.

When they reached the maze she had to wonder if she'd truly cracked.

There were crystalline stairs and archways everywhere. On the floors, the walls, the ceiling. They overlapped and intersected at crazy, gravity defying angles, the bottom of one set of stairs becoming the top of another, an archway jutting out from the side wall of another set of stair only to lead to even more stairs. It gave her a major dose of vertigo.

"At last!" the Monster said, gathering his minions to him. "This is the last stretch. You must all follow my lead exactly. While I've disarmed the major traps along the correct route, there are others that will try to tempt you off onto a side path. If any of you are idiot enough to wander off, I won't come after you. Here, give me the girl, I'm not going to risk you lot losing her."

There was a shuffle of movement and then Miri was being strapped to the Monster's back. An involuntary shudder went through her.

"Yeah, love you too, Bait." The Monster gave one last shrug to settle her weight, then stepped through an archway.

The vertigo intensified. Instead of coming out the other side, there was a shimmer in the air and they were suddenly standing on one of the walls with a set of stairs in front of them. The Monster took a deep breath and started 'down' the stairs. The hour that followed had her spinning and her stomach churning like a butter mill. For a few moments she thought she would have the pleasure of expressing her opinion all over the Monster, but alas, the balance never quite tipped over.

Worse than the vertigo were the whispering voices. She barely heard them at first, thinking them no more than a breeze or a side note to the ringing in her ears. But their volume slowly increased until she was able to make out words.

_Hurry, Miri, this way. We can't miss Daddy's plane._

_Come on, I have a surprise for you._

_Look, if we go to the top of the ridge we can see the whole valley._

_Over here, the Carson's rabbits had babies! Let's go._

_Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry . . ._

_What's wrong, pumpkin? Did the movie scare you? Don't worry, Daddy's here to protect you. We'll go in together._

_Miri, I promise, there is no monster under the bed. Here, we'll look together. And if there is one, we'll just use the Rolling Pin of Doom on it. It won't come back after that! Let's go._

_It's a lot of people out there isn't it? I think Daddy's the scaredy-cat on this one. No they won't hurt me. Well - maybe they'll say mean things. Yeah kind of like the Meanie-Monster. Will you protect me? Then take my hand and I'll put you right where I can see. We'll face the lot together._

Tears slipped down Miri's cheeks. If she'd been able to move she would have run, frantic to catch up with the echoes of memory. But she wasn't even able to reach out a hand.

Finally, _finally,_ they reached the end of the dizzying maze. Exiting the last arch they found themselves in a huge, circular cavern. The Monster gave a sigh of relief, stepped to the side, and began unbuckling her from the harness. The minions filed in, one after another, till no more arrived. They were missing four. The Monster stood her upright, and looked at them, shaking his head in disgust.

"Well, better than I'd feared." He looked at his watch. "All right people, we've got two hours to prepare. Lets hurry, but whatever you do, _don't_ let it make you careless. One wrong sigil, one hair out of place, and we'll all be praying for very short lives."

They all scattered, going about their assignments and she was at last able to see the cavern properly. The walls were rough hewn, and black, with graceful white stone arches placed in regular intervals around the room, meeting in the middle to support the ceiling. Around the edge more white stone was laid out in a wide walkway. But the vast majority of floor was a pure black stone, and polished to a shine. It raised up in a gentle slope till it hit a small black platform in the center, with deep grooves etched into the surface, like conduits, leading back to the slope. The slope was covered in strange carved symbols. Most of it looked like some kind of script, though nothing like the writing in the diaries she'd looked at. Interspersed with the script however, were other symbols. Circles within triangles within circles, complex geometric forms, and others she couldn't make head nor tails of.

A weight settle in her stomach like a rock. She'd always thought the Monster was looney, delusional. But between this and the maze they'd gone through . . .

It was real. The vampire. The power. It was all real. Not that it made much difference for her. She'd already realize she wasn't coming out of this alive. That knowledge had made her numb, piled on top of the horrors she'd already endured. But for others –

Her eyes slid to the Monster, and she began to tremble. She didn't know what was more terrifying; the thought of endless power and malice at the Monster's disposal; or the thought of that evil slipping the Monster's leash, let loose on an unsuspecting world.

Not for the first time, Miri hurled herself mentally against her restraints. Again and again, till she was bruised and weeping, scrabbling uselessly at the prison walls of her own mind. Distantly, for a brief moment, she felt something begin to stir.

"Bait, get over here!" the Monster called sharply. She moved toward him, while her mind screamed at her to run, back into the maze, back to the sun, back to anywhere but here. She was ordered to strip, and then she was being led to the small platform, ordered to lay down, her arms and legs positioned precisely next to the grooves. A knife was tested, and then placed on her chest awaiting use. The Monster backed off, his steps receding down the slope.

All she could do was stare at the ceiling.

Cold seeped into her from the stone below. Around her voices called, double checked one another's work, and then, at last fell silent. The artificial light of the lamps was replaced by flicking firelight. It added hellish cast to the scene as eerie shadows wavered and danced above her. There was a bell chime and then a low chanting began. The voices rose and fell like waves, first from this side, then from another. It was almost hypnotic. She found herself gasping for breath, as terror quickened her lungs. That angered her. Deliberately she slowed her breathing. Damned if she'd give the Monster the satisfaction of seeing her fear. And he _was_ watching. She could feel his gaze burning into her.

The knife trembled on her chest and then rose, unsupported, above her. There was a tiny squeak as her throat tightened in reaction. She barely felt the first cut to her wrist. She almost laughed, _would_ have laughed if she could, when she realized the blade had been made razor sharp, to increase it's effectiveness. But it diminished the pain she felt. That must have stuck in the Monster's craw.

The blade continued it's path, slicing again and again, till she was covered shallow cuts, till the blood pooled beneath her and drained away, following the path of the grooves.

Again came the distant stirring.

The cuts, which at first had barely stung, began to burn. A corresponding energy flickered in her mind, then burst into flame. She gasped as the cuts seared into unholy life, her nerve endings screaming in agony.

The stirring became a presence, sleep ridden, confused.

Breathing was becoming difficult as her body struggled futilely to move, to escape. Her muscles clenched and spasmed, but were unable to move so much as an inch. Inside her mind she wept and shuddered, furiously attempting to build barriers against the energy that coursed through her, but they were eaten away as fast as she could erect them up, leaving her unprotected against the blazing storm. Her breath came in whimpering gasps now, her throat tightening against the pain. Hotter and hotter the energy burned, until not even the Monster's chains could hold back her agonized scream.

The presence woke.

A surge swept through her, leaving devastation in its wake, as the stream became a river, and the river became a flood. Her focus narrowed until all that existed was pain and power.

* * *

The summons arrived with the force and speed of lightning. Mikhail and Gregori were in the air and moving before their minds could even acknowledge what had occurred, the tatters of their conversation trailing in the air behind them. Immediately Mikhail began testing the compulsion, looking for weaknesses. He found none.

'_I do not like this.'_ Gregori's voice was cool and calm, but underneath lay the enraged rumble of a trapped wolf._ 'I will lend you my strength, that you may break free, then I will see to this threat.'_

Mikhail scowled, but did not argue. He had long ago learned when Gregori could be swayed and when he would act only as he saw fit. His mind briefly sought Raven's. She was calmly conversing with Shea and Francesca, with no hint of danger around her. He quietly withdrew, thoughtful now. In the past his lifemate had shown herself to be highly sensitive to any threat of danger or malice directed towards him, far more sensitive than he would have wished. Her radar for evil was a burden for her, if a useful one. And yet she had shown not even a glimmer of alarm, or even awareness, of the compulsion gripping him.

Power from Gregori flooded him, and he merged it with his own, forming into a hard, keen edged blade. With all his strength he hurled it at the force binding him – and was shocked to see it absorbed without hesitation into the wall of power. The urgency of the compulsion intensified, even as he felt Gabriel and Lucian join Gregori behind him. There was a brief murmur of conversation behind him, and then the twins swept past him to place themselves as shields for their Prince.

The four birds of prey sped through the air, the night darkened forest a blur beneath them. There was a break in the trees, and then they were swooping down, into a narrow opening in the earth. The earth rumbled around them, echoing an unparalleled rage. Alarmed, they attempted to pull up, turn around; but the compulsion dragged them on. They flew through tunnel after tunnel, some so small they had to shift forms again to pass, until they reached an enormous cavern. The summons eased for a moment.

Resuming their original shapes, they exchanged glances. The rumble surrounding them increased until, with a horrible cacophony the earth rent itself apart beneath their feet. Once more the summons dragged them downward.

The scent of spilled blood hit his senses first. Directly below him a small child, covered in her own blood, shook and trembled as power eddied around her. Clean golden light spilled in shafts from the carvings surrounding her, except, where her blood had followed the grooved paths it had washed the cracks and crevices in crimson. There the light turned foul and burnt the air with its presence. Around the edges, tumbled like rag dolls were men, cursing and coughing in the dust. One of them, the obvious leader, urged them on, taking up a sonorous chant.

They had not yet noticed their intruders.

Ruthlessly, Mikhail forced open the mind of one of the minions, shrugging past the shoddy barriers the man had built. He grimaced in disgust at the obsession and lust for power, not to mention the blind obedience he found there. The man truly had no idea exactly of what he was doing, only that their leader had promised them control of powerful being. A quick mind bolt dropped the lackey in his tracks.

'_These are not our summoners. Their leader is of mage blood, but not fully so, as is the child he has bound. He seeks to raise and control what he believes is an ancient vampire - though he has no real comprehension what that is. He is not without some power.' _Lucian thoughts were, as always, calm and collected. _'There are none among them able to harm us. The same may not be true for what they raise.'_

'_Are there any of them worth salvaging?'_ Mikhail asked.

'_None,'_ Gabriel said grimly. _'They are all cast in the same mold as they one they follow.'_

"Then let us see to their disposal quickly. We have other matters to attend."

* * *

The leader's head jerked up, hearing words in an unfamiliar language coming from above him. Around him, his followers began to fall, blood gushing from cut throats and cratered chests, their attackers a speed that defied belief. Suddenly before him stood man a with dark hair and shimmering silver eyes.

"I am Gregori, an enforcer for my race You have transgressed the laws of my people and your own and led your followers to do the same. It is best that your life end now before you can cause further harm."

The leader tried to move, to run, to attack, but somehow his body was paralyzed, and he could not look away from those cold, cold, eyes. He felt the ritual blade ripped from his mind's grasp. From the corner of his vision he saw the point turn towards him and then it shot forward and buried itself in his throat.

* * *

"She is not the source of the summons either," Lucian said, as Mikhail joined him at the base of the slope. "She is shedding great quantities of power, but it is undirected, formless. I believe it was intended to fuel whatever spell the mage was crafting, but they had not the competence to grasp and direct it. A small amount is seeping into the carvings with her blood, but most drifts in air around her."

The rage that had shaken the earth had calmed at the death of the fanatic's leader. In its wake was a stillness that thickened the air and made movement feel as though they were walking through water. Mikhail studied the child for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the carvings inscribed into the stone. They were Karpatii, a very old form of the tongue. The glow had dimmed, but not faded, and the blood-stained light was gradually clearing, changing into the same golden glow as the rest of the inscriptions. There was a mystery here that must be investigated. Carefully.

Mikhail shook his head. He could not comprehend the foolishness of humans, that they would so little value their offspring. "Still, we must act soon if we are to save the child's life" he said. "If she loses much more blood, the shallowness of those cuts will become irrelevant." Carefully, not wanting to frighten the child further, he reached out and brushed her mind.

The child's agony slammed through him as he was thrown physically to the chamber's wall. A scream ripped from a throat already raw. Power flared from her, scattering bolts of energy through the room. To his left Mikhail heard a his of pain.

Once more rage shook the walls, and for a long moment Mikhail feared the source of the anger would bring the earth crashing in on them. But instead a measure of control seemed to return and the tremors slacked off to a low vibration.

Suddenly the dim light of the inscriptions flared once more to life, burning away the last of the taint. A glowing barrier encircled the child. Within it, a shimmering green luminescence appeared, gradually sinking into the girl's body. As it did so, the child's whimpering breaths faded away and her trembling eased, then stilled. Her eyes closed, and she fell into a natural sleep.

Mikhail drew in a long breath. "I think we now know who summoned us."

"Indeed," Gregori echoed. "Now if we only knew _what_."

The energy storm surrounding her slowly dispersed and faded away. The light from the inscriptions dimmed. The barrier disappeared. The tremors in the walls around them ceased. Lucian took a step forward and then stopped. He frowned. "It blocks approach to the girl."

The inscriptions flared once more. The child was slowly lifted from the platform and drifted gently towards Mikhail, coming to a stop just in front of him. Hesitantly he raised his arms to cradle her.

A wordless demand touched the fringes of his mind. After a brief pause he nodded his acceptance. Her weight settled into his arms, and the light dimmed to the faintest of shimmers.

Mikhail looked down at the girl in his arms. The cuts were still present but her bleeding had slowed to the merest trickle. If they hurried the child would yet live. She had better. Somehow, he had a feeling the being who summoned them would not be understanding if she came to harm.

* * *

'_Lucian?'_ Gabriel inquired. _'What troubles you?'_

'_These carvings and inscriptions. They are ancient and complex, beyond any we have seen. I can barely begin to understand them and yet they seem familiar somehow. As though . . . I do not believe what I suspect, but it seems the only solution to fit._'

A quick burst of images and impressions were received. Gabriel's quick intake of breath drew the attention of those gathered.

'_Is it possible?'_

'_We have no choice but to act as though it is. You will warn the others while I investigate this further.'_

A door opened and Gregori entered, a solemn reserve cloaked around him. Immediately Savannah went to him, one arm sliding around his waist. He held her a moment, breathing in her scent, then lifted his head. "She will live."

The tension in the room eased at the announcement, though the grim expressions on those gathered did not fade entirely.

"She will heal fully," he continued. "In body at least, with no new scars to add to her collection. Her mind – that I am not as sure of. She will need careful attention, somewhere distant from these mountains. Her mind is badly injured. She senses our communications and each transmission is agony to her. There are too many of us, too many unspoken conversations for her to heal easily. It would be best, I believe to place her in the care of Aiden Savage, in America. He is skilled, and she will be better able to recover."

Mikhail nodded, then frowned "You say she has scars already?"

"She has the marks of a whip and strap, and her body holds the memory of many bruises." Noises of disgust and horror echoed through the room. Gregori shook his head. "Her greatest danger is from the damage to her mind. If that cannot be healed the rest will be immaterial. I have never seen injuries like these."

"I have." Gabriel said, grimly. "She is mage-born, though I doubt she was raised so. The channels of their talents require time to mature and open naturally. Hers were torn asunder, so that power would course through her without restraint. It was not intended that she survive. "

"Why? What purpose would this child's death have served?"

"To wake and control the being who sleeps beneath the runes."

Mikhail frowned. "There is so much that has been lost. That we had no knowledge of this cavern, in the very heart of our mountains – Do you and your brother have any remembrance of it?"

"We . . . may." There was an uncharacteristic thread of incredulity in his voice. He rubbed his face, as if to wipe away his own uncertainty, then settled heavily into a chair. "I ask you to understand, this was no more than a fledgling's tale for us. Amusing, granted, in the way of fear-tales and the like, but not to be given any weight of belief. There are many variations. Some benign, others treacherous. If there is any truth in them, then that truth has suffered for the years."

"Yet you believe they have reality." Gregori said.

"We believe it would be dangerous to ignore the possibility." He paused to organize his thoughts. "This much the tales have in common: a cavern hidden deep in a range of mountains; a being of immense power, sealed away to sleep for eternity; a sealing forged by the hands of both Magi and Karpatii; the seal forged by voluntary blood sacrifice to the releasing of life; and the peril of breaking the seal, though none are certain exactly what would occur.

"Beyond that the tales are contradictory. Some claim the being to be a guardian, watching over our race. That so long as the being sleeps, these mountains shall ever be a haven to our people. Some, that the being will waken on its own should the hour become desperate enough, to save or to rescue; to destroy our persecutors; to fight an ancient evil reborn. That it will waken only should the last Carpathian fall to the vampire, to utterly remove their corruption from the world.

"Less benign, but perhaps more likely, are the tales of an ancient. Not turned, but driven mad by the weight of his years, to powerful to slay, and instead sealed into sleep for the protection of all. Sometimes voluntarily, sometime not.

"Then there are the 'ghost stories'. The being is a demon; a half bred monstrosity; a failed experiment of the magi's. It is the cause of wars, of plagues, the heart of malice. A vampire, powerful, but trapped by the cleverness of those it hunted. The originator of all vampires. Or even the great Evil One himself."

"Well, that was clear as mud," Savannah said.

"You see the difficulty," he responded dryly. "Yet, as I said, all agreed that the being should not be awakened."

"And now someone has." Gregori said grimly.

The silence that followed was shaken.

* * *

**Okay, that turned out much, much, much longer than I expected. All necessary stuff but . . . way to long for a prolog. Not to mention all the character juggling. Oh well, I just hope it was interesting. Onto the first chapter. :)**


	3. Beginnings

**Note: Again, I've fixed a few items. I wish my brain would catch these **_**before**_** I posted.**

**Rose3521, seshomarusgirl, injay22, and cheyennedestiny, thank you for the support. The encouragement and feedback really helps.**

* * *

**Sorry this is so late. I could run down the list of excuses I suppose, but what's the point? I will say that I will never if I can help it, do another fanfic with another writer's characters. Trying to stay true to the tone and speech of Christine's cast has been half my trouble – and I have a sneaking suspicion that I failed miserably at that.**

* * *

Chapter One

The backpack hit her bed with a thunk and slid. She was running sooo late. Miri quick-stepped into the bathroom and scrubbed a soapy hand towel over her face, giving the cleanser a little magical boost. She didn't have time to do a thorough cleansing the mundane way. A dry towel scrub, and then she was stripping her outer clothes and sprinting to her closet. Here she took a moment to slow down and consider.

Ballerina? Jazz funk? Goth babe? No, there was a new girl coming today, and she didn't want to scare or intimidate her. Better go gypsy.

She snagged the long, full, red skirt and the white cotton peasant blouse, dressing hurriedly. A coined scarf was knotted at her hips, sandals and a charm laden anklet slipped on. Luckily, gypsy meant she could leave her hair down, so that shaved a few minutes. No makeup. Better grab a few bangles. A few moments later Miri was running down the stairs.

"Hi, Marie," she said, entering the kitchen. "Can't stop to eat, Rusty's waiting in the car. I'll just grab a bagel. Hi, Josh."

Joshua gave a brief wave of his hand from where he sat, his gaze never leaving the textbooks scattered on the table in front of him. Must be midterms again.

Marie's face took on a familiar, exasperated look as Miri opened the fridge to find the cream cheese. "There's a sack with a sandwich, a peach, and a bottle of juice in it, on the second shelf for you. I made it up for you when Rusty called to say you be late."

"Thanks, Marie, you're a lifesaver!" Miri gave Marie a quick peck on the cheek as she headed out. The door closed behind her with a solid thunk. She quickly scrambled into the back seat where Rusty was patiently waiting. Christopher, her other driver/bodyguard, started the engine immediately, and pulled out. Rusty glanced at the paper sack she was diving into and shook his head.

Miri went over her class plans as she ate. For the last year or so she had been running a dance class for abused women and children. It was informal, a mix of Modern, Jazz, and Bellydance. Most of her students were in transition, some still living in shelters and halfway houses, so there couldn't be any long term planning or choreography. No recitals – that would have been way to dangerous. But there in her classes, for a short time her students could block out the rest of the world and reconnect with themselves, with their own bodies, as a source of joy instead of suffering.

It had started when she'd overheard one of her own teachers talking on the phone with a social worker about the possibilities of such a class. Her teacher hadn't had the time available, but Miri did. Aiden had been reluctant to permit it. There were dangers involved, from stalker husbands to psychotic parents, and she'd had to agree to extra security at all times. But, seeing the need in her he'd finally agreed. Privately, she'd worked extra hard on her shielding, aware that, in a worst case scenario, _she_ might be all that stood between her students and danger. Not that it had come up so far. The location of the classes was kept very hush-hush. The few times they'd had a spot of trouble, security had taken care of the problem before the class could even be interrupted.

She mentally reviewed the file on her new student. Crystal Hughes. Twelves years old. Mother took her and ran when father became dangerously abusive. No sexual abuse, thank God, but extensive physical abuse. Recovering from a broken leg and three ribs. Casts off, but still healing. Hmm, she'd have to modify the exercises a bit, keep it low key for a while.

They pulled up in front of a small, Victorian style home. Outside it looked little different than the rest of the homes in this middle class suburbia. But inside? Well, once Aiden had given way, he'd decided to do things right. There was still a small kitchen, a small front room where the big picture windows looks out on the street, the bathrooms were intact, a laundry room and some basement storage. But the rest of the house had been converted into three, various sized dance studios. Miri wasn't the only one who taught here. A few other, professional, teachers had come on board. They had each claimed a room, depending on the size of class they were most comfortable with. Miri had started with the smallest. But her students had responded so well in her classes that more and more often the counselors were requesting to place new students with her. She had move to the mid-sized room two months ago.

Perhaps with others the situation would have turned nasty, with the professional teachers offended, but the women she worked with were great. "There's something in you, Miri," Vanessa had observed after sitting in on one of her classes, "Something that connects with your students, on a level we can't. It's a tremendous gift, one you must take care cultivate."

A few of her students had already arrived and were warming up. Miri quickly set up her music tracks for the session ahead and was going over her altered lesson plan when Vanessa walked in, with a new face beside her.

"Here we go," Vanessa said kindly. "Crystal, this is Miri Savage, your new dance teacher. Miri, this is Crystal Huges."

Crystal's eyes went wide with surprise, no doubt noticing the age, or lack thereof, of her new instructor.

"I'm so pleased you could come join us, Crystal." Miri kept her tone light and friendly, though rage instantly burned though her as she noticed the fading bruises. "I hope you have fun with us tonight."

Crystal managed a small, hesitant agreement.

Miri asked a few gentle questions, and then turned her focus back to Vanessa when she noticed the attention disturbed her. The girl noticeably relaxed once she was no longer in the spotlight. Crystal watched Miri as the two instructors talked. It was a thoughtful, intent regard. Miri felt as if the girl were trying to see into her soul, examine every part of her. It unsettled her. She tightened her mind shields reflexively, and then scolded herself. Crystal was a traumatized student, not a threat.

Instead, Miri forced herself to open up the outer layer of her shields, just that little bit, allowing her honest concern, her desire for simple friendship to show through. While few people were consciously aware of Miri's shields, she'd realized a great many did pick up on them on an unconscious level, sensing a reserve, a distance. She couldn't afford that as a teacher. Especially not with these students.

She boosted the friendship just a bit – and was surprised at Crystal's reaction. At first Crystal shrunk away alarmed. But then she stopped, tilted her head and considered Miri like a wary cat. Miri found herself holding her breath. Crystal narrowed her eyes and Miri felt the lightest of brushes against her shields. Miri's eyes whipped to meet Crystal's in shock. Miri's shields trembled, caught between a panicked need to hide, to run, and the need to reassure, to reach out to this damaged, _gifted_ girl.

The touch withdrew and Crystal gave her another, long, considering look – and then her face broke out in a smile like sunshine.

* * *

High above the Carpathian mountains birds called and took flight as slow waves of power rolled and shook the ground. Animals in their dens raised their heads and scented the night air. Something was coming, something strong, powerful. Deep within the earth a sleeper stirred, stretched, and finally, completely…woke.

The being parted the earth surrounding him with a flick of his mind, then floated upward to touch the roof of his chamber. He pressed a hand to it. Nothing. Frowning, he searched his drowsy mind. Ah, yes, that was it.

"Enotif" he said firmly. There was a click and then a circle of light appeared as the stone of the platform moved away. A faint scent of smoke, fear, and old blood tickled his nose. Instantly his upper canines lengthened. Hunger filled his body.

No, it could not be permitted. He had a task that must be accomplished. Nothing could interfere with that. But still the hunger whispered and beat at him. He forced it to the back of his mind. The blood from long ago, that priceless, selfless gift, would sustain him until he could finish his task. After that it would not matter. Slowly, reluctantly, the canines receded.

He floated upward, stopping briefly to survey the chamber that had been his resting place for so long. The magi had done their work well. Even after all this time, after his rage had shaken and rent the walls, the chamber was still intact, the supports still holding up the weight of the mountain. He closed the lid to his resting ground with a wave of his hand. It moved smoothly into place, becoming a platform at the top of the black stone slope.

Closing his eyes he searched his mind, feeling the web of the Karpatii people. The strands were thin and fragile. There. This was the one he needed. This one would not hesitate. Next to the one he sought he sensed another, somewhat stronger thread. A blood connection, however diluted it may have become through the years. It pleased him. He would like to see what had become of his sister's line. Carefully he severed all but those two threads, being cautious to leave no injury behind.

He opened his eyes and flew upward through the chasm he had created, back-tracing the path of the Karpatii he had summoned, their scent still lingering in the caves. He burst into the cold night air. Though his body instantly adjusted to the temperature, the brief chill called his attention to his unclad state. The clothes he had worn had not survived the ages. He shrugged, cleaning and clothing himself with a thought.

He frowned. Clothing was different now. Vastly different. That information, along with so much else had trickled to him through the web. Perhaps he should… no, he was what he was. It was not as though he would be in this world long enough for it to matter. Then again he had no wish to frighten the child more than he would already. The clothes vanished, replaced by the austere male garb more common to this new era.

Orienting himself in relation to the two remaining threads, he flashed to their location.

He found them conversing with a female in a small clearing by a cliff, overlooking a small village.

The two Karpatii men jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Both instantly moved to place themselves between the being and the small, delicate female. A lifemate. There was no mistaking the energy that flowed between the couple. Strange. She was Karpatii but her blood held no recognition of his. A puzzle, but one irrelevant.

"Peace," he said. "I will work no harm. Your chos– no, your lifemate, is in no danger from me."

The males drew closer together, crowding the female, seeming to barely understand his words. Of course. Language too had changed, even the Karpatii tongue would given so much time. He searched the reservoir of knowledge that had collected over his long sleep.

"I am Ransom Jauregi. I have come to ask the aid of the healer in fulfilling an oath." The words were slow, carefully chosen, his unfamiliarity with the tongue obvious to the listeners. The males didn't so much as stir a hair, though their eyes narrowed.

"What kind of oath is this?" the larger one asked.

From behind the two males there was the sound of two muffled thumps. The female spoke, her voice shimmering and musical.

"For crying out loud, will one of you two knuckle dragging neanderthals move?" Her lifemate's arm swept out to prevent her from stepping around them. The woman sighed, then eyes popped up to peek at him over the males shoulders. "You'll have to forgive them. They haven't gotten word yet that the stone age ended."

The eyes danced with mischief, and he found himself responding with a small smile, confusing though her words were. It felt strange, the muscles unaccustomed to the motion.

"They seek only your protection from one unknown to them. It is as it should be." Ransom looked back to the healer. "Your pardon, but there is little time. I must complete this task before the next rising of the sun. I will permit you, and you alone, full entry into my mind at this time, that you may know what must be done."

Turning his mind inward, he once more found the thread that connected him to the healer. He carefully strengthened the bond so that it would not snap under the weight of the healer's power, and threw the door to his soul open wide. The healer was cautious, fearing a trap. He moved slowly into Ransom's mind, ready to retreat or attack at the first sign of danger. Ransom felt the healer's wary advance. The healer combed slow fingers through his mind, studying it for malice, threat. Finding none he moved on to Ransom's memories. Carefully, but so very thoroughly, he examined them for inconsistencies, gaps, anything that might indicate a fabrication. At long last he pulled away.

Ransom shivered. It had not been easy holding the predator back. The beast raged against such vulnerability, snapped and snarled at the constraints that held it. Worse, the shadow in him had attempted to reach out and take the healer, overwhelm him before he could mount any defense. It too was hungry. Despite the blood gift, it had been all he could do to hold them both at bay.

Shaken awe and respect filled Gregori's cold eyes. The healer took a deep breath and slowly moved away from the female.

"Gregori?" the other male snapped.

"It is safe. The danger in this male is…contained." The healer stopped and gave a short bow. "I am Gregori Daratrazanoff. My prince, Mikhail Dubrinsky, and his lifemate Raven." He indicated them with a wave of his hand.

"A prince? Then one of my sister's blood still rules after all this time." Ransom studied the man before him intently. Mikhail stood tall and dignified under the examination, his eyes still wary, his lifemate's wrist held firmly in his grasp, preventing the impatient female from moving away from his protection. Ransom nodded approvingly. Yes, this male reminded him greatly of Magnus. "Be at ease, child of my sister's line. I seek no conflict this night."

The prince allowed some of the tension to slip away, but his wariness remained. "I had thought I knew all the family lines and names, even those now extinct, yet I do not recall hearing of a Jauregi. Nor is your coloring common among Carpathians. In fact, it is unknown. Yet my instincts recognize you as one of my own. Why is that?" he asked silkily.

"I am the last of the Jauregi line, my father the last in his generation to bear the name as well. That was long ago. My sister was Lucerna, Chosen of Magnus of the Nightseer's line. As for my coloring – though Karpatii heritage is the dominant blood in my veins, my mother was not of our race, and her own blood was mixed of three races."

"A half-bred monstrosity," the female murmured. Dismay flashed in her eyes as she realized she'd spoken aloud. Ransom nodded gravely, then held up a hand when she would have apologized.

"It is not the first I have heard the term. Nor was I surprised when the tales filtered to me through the Karpatii web. My works, though beneficial to our race, were not without their costs, and it was to be expected that bitterness should follow my name."

"What were these then, that would bring such ill feeling?" Mikhail asked, eyes narrowing. Ransom dismissed the subject with a small wave.

"Again, your pardon. Had I more than a night for this task, there is much we could speak of, much I would wish to learn of our people since the beginning of my sleep. But my time is very short. Daratrazanoff holds my memories, and can supply you with your answers when my task is complete."

The female stirred, distressed. "You intend to end your life," she said flatly. Mikhail pulled her close, comforting her, even as a brow lifted in solemn inquiry.

"It is the best course for all, treasured one. The shadow was strong in me long before my interment. Now, there is little left to my soul. The first attempt to feed would see the end of what remains. I will not leave such a soulless one for my people to hunt. There would be too much devastation wrought before it could be destroyed, if it could be destroyed. It is only my oath that holds me to this world now."

"You have not told us what this oath is that binds you." Mikhail observed.

Ransom grew impatient, but thrust it aside. This man was the leader of the Karpatii now. That role was deserving of respect, even if he knew not the male that filled it.

"The magi who made possible my long sleep and the end of my duty asked only one thing of myself in exchange. I thought it a foolish wish, but in the face of such sacrifice I could only accede. He asked that should I ever discover the existence of my own lifemate, that I would go to her and give her the choice of bonding with me. Perhaps I should not have made such an oath, but at the time it seemed harmless, an impossibility. Now I find myself caught by that oath."

The female's eyes softened in understanding. "Miri."

"Yes. The child you rescued is my lifemate. Her presence, and hers alone could have woken me. It is unfair to the child, but it cannot be helped. Gregori, I ask that once you have slain me, you remove the memory of our meeting from the child's mind. She will have grief enough without knowing her small part in it."

The growl that came from Mikhail was low and angry. "You would abandon your lifemate? You would sentence her to a life without the other half of her soul?"

"Better to ask, should I sentence her to eternity with a beast? In any event it matters little. My promise was to give her a choice. If there were time to court her, perhaps she would see something worth salvaging, but there is not. I am ancient, even for one of our people. She is mortal, of Magi blood perhaps, but mortal all the same, and barely more than a child. She will not choose to bind herself to one such as I."

There was a long silence. Finally Gregori spoke with slow deliberation.

"That may be, however I have learned it is unwise to underestimate our lifemates. But this discussion may be purposeless. The child was sent to another continent to heal. The distance is too great to travel in a single night."

"I know where she is. The distance is not a concern. There are some advantages you see, to being a half-bred monstrosity," he said with a small smile.

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**Well, no major revelations in this chapter, though plenty of hints. Can't wait till I can just deal with Miri and Ransom. Pardon me, I'll go do something nice and relaxing now, like hitting my head against a wall. Yeah, that sounds good. Please review.**


	4. Travel

**This is a short piece, more to let everyone know I'm alive, and that I haven't forgotten this project. Been dealing with 'Life Interrupt' for a while now. If/when I do a second draft of this story this section will be included in the previous chapter.**

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Gregori fell to his knees, the healer's dignity vanishing as he gasped for breath and attempted to control the burning nausea. Ransom crouched above him, amused concern touching his eyes.

"I ask your pardon, healer, for not warning you. In truth, it has been so long since I first began training in use of the Light Paths that I had forgotten the initial… discomfort. It will pass quickly."

Gregori gave him a disgusted glance and Ransom sighed inwardly. Urgency, the passage of time, beat at him, but there was nothing to be done until the healer recovered.

Below their position on the rocky overhang, the lights of the city spread out before them like a sea of stars. So many people. And all human. He did not begrudge the race their numbers. Of all the races theirs especially had had so much taken from them that their survival was miraculous, a triumph over the Corruptor's malice. But it was tragic that so few others had demonstrated the same strength. Even before his long sleep many races had slipped into the realm of the ghost and shadows. His own had almost been one of them.

Gregori turned and sat on the ground beside him, his labored breathing beginning to ease. Ransom glanced at him, checking the healer's condition, and then turned back to the sea of lights.

"It is remarkable, is it not, what they have accomplished? After the Cataclysm they were barely more than huddled refugees, seeking to scrabble out a harsh, barren existence. Now see them. They prosper beyond the greatest dreams of their ancestors." Ransom observed.

Gregori looked at him, then turned to view the city. "I suppose so. Individually they are so weak, it is easy to overlook their accomplishments as a race."

"It was not always so." Ransom said softly.

The two sat in still silence for a time. Gregori glanced at Ransom, his eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"There were others, more powerful than myself nearby. Why did you choose me for this task?" The question was abrupt, harsh.

Ransom met Gregori's gaze, his own expression thoughtful. "You will not like the answer to that question."

"Nevertheless, I must know."

"As you wish." Ransom plucked a few blades of grass and began idly weaving them together. "You know of the web that existed between myself and all Karpatii. It was an impersonal thing for the most part, connecting as it did on a level that few acknowledge. But as I was able to imprint the binding patterns on the Karpatii, so too did some of their knowledge pass to me. For the most part it was simple information. Language, social conditions, new inventions or styles that intrigued them. Miscellaneous details. Nothing of a truly personal nature. But I quickly discovered there was one occasion when the connection deepened. When it was about to be severed. When they were about to fall to the darkness within."

Gregori went very still beside him.

"Sometimes, all too rarely, I was able to give them the strength needed to ward away the darkness one more time. But for the most part I was helpless to do more than watch as evil destroyed them, Karpatii after Karpatii."

Ransom looked carefully away, towards the city lights.

"Your lifemate is truly a miracle" he said softly. There was only silence beside him for a long moment.

Then Gregori gave a slow nod. "Yes, she is."

"Of those Karpatii now living, there are many who have struggled long with the darkness. Many who have come close to losing their souls. But I believe you, above all, understand the danger of this time, for myself and my lifemate. She has endured too much in her young life as it is. I will not risk her. I have spent lifetimes constructing the weapon I've given you. Do not hesitate to use it."

Gregori's response was soft and low. "As you wish." He got to his feet, shaking off the last of the nausea. "Shall we get this done?"


	5. Scared Little Rabbits

**A small tidbit I'm afraid. Life is still interrupting, but I'm going to try to update more often, even if it has to be in slivers like this. Haven't had a chance to proof read either, so if you find errors, please forgive.**

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There was barely a quarter of an hour left in the class when the first warning came.

It had been a good class, slow gentle stretches, followed by a session of improvisation that had her students stretching their minds as well as their bodies. She had also enjoyed laying a careful groundwork of trust with Crystal. She didn't know for certain what steps Aiden would wish to take to protect the child, but she did know that he would most likely want to work through her. Abused children, heck abused _people_, didn't trust easily, and Crystal was far too sensitive not to sense the predator in Aiden. But Crystal's recognition of Miri's own differences seemed to have lowered her barriers a little. Miri wasn't fooled though. At this stage, all it would take was one wrong move to shatter that fragile trust.

Miri's muscles twinged in warning. This class may have been gentle, but her own lessons had been grueling this afternoon, and she was feeling the burn of muscles pushed to their limits. Tomorrow morning was not going to be pleasant, she reflected ruefully. It was a good thing she was nearly done here.

"And with the dawn's warming rays, let that inner eye close, going back to sleep, waiting for the next twilight to return. Take a deep breath, let it out, and come to a slow, easy stop." Miri waited until her students seemed to come back to themselves, once more alert and ready. "All right ladies it's time for a cool down, so–"

The feel of something dark and menacing brushed past her shields.

Immediately Miri clamped down all her barriers, locking them tight, throwing a cloak of misdirection around herself and Crystal. She gulped, praying the camouflage would hold. It wasn't the first time the undead had come sniffing around. So far her arts had been enough to throw them off the scent, but she'd only had herself to disguise before. There had been no chance to prepare a custom cloaking for Crystal, and the improvised camouflage was patchy, ill-fitting around the edges. Crystal herself had frozen, trembling in fear. Not good. Predators were drawn by fear.

Miri stepped to the girl, making the soothing gestures her other students would expect. Beneath that action, she risked cracking her shields just enough to send a wave of reassurance. Crystal's eyes snapped to meet hers as though grasping a lifeline. But slowly she calmed.

The feeling returned, prowling, searching. Something had drawn it here.

Miri prayed it would find nothing and move on, but she couldn't take that chance. She sent a message winging to Aiden. He would come as soon as it reached him. She had only to hold on till then. In the meantime her duty was to her students. Luckily, her's was the last class of the night so the other rooms would be clear.

With the tiniest spark of power she activated her cell phone, causing it to ring.

"Excuse me a moment." Miri walked over to her bag of materials and dug out the phone. She pretended to hold a brief conversation, then snapped it shut. "I'm sorry ladies, I'm going to have to cut class short today. That was a red alert. You all know the drill. Keep your partners by your side and stay in a group. Drive carefully. Now go."

The sooner they were out of the area, the safer they would be. Another twist of power wreathed them in the lightest of aversion shrouds. They would _not_ be prey this night. Silently she signaled Crystal to stay, even as she subtly persuaded the ladies to forget about the child in their midst. She hated any form of mind control, even the low key version she used now but, despite the danger, Crystal would be far safer with Miri than alone. Quick though they were, it seemed an eternity to Miri as they gathered up their bags and clothes. All the while she could feel the prowling exploration circling in the night. It wasn't moving on.

'_Keep it together, Miri. God gave you a brain. Use it,'_ she thought. OK, something was attracting it. She knew her cloak was perfect. In their exercises even Aiden hadn't been able to penetrate it, and he'd known it was there. But Crystal's wasn't. Enough leaked through that the undead had caught the scent of power, and fear. It knew someone was around that could sense it. That feared it. But it hadn't stopped searching, so it hadn't found them yet. She couldn't let the creature have Crystal, and that left only one option.

Aiden was going to strangle her for this.

With a deep breath Miri eased into a light trance, focusing inward, searching for that part of her that existed somewhere in the deepest layers of her soul. And there, as always, she found her answers. She had never been able to discover what it was she connected to there. Some racial memory, or past life. Who knew. Aiden might have been able to tell her, but she'd never dared ask, terrified that he'd want to probe her mind. But always when she went there, the knowledge was there, quietly waiting.

Miri surfaced to find the last of her students exiting the door, and the presence circling closer. She moved to crouch in front of Crystal. The girl was clearly scared, but she had stayed.

"You sense him too, don't you?" Miri asked. Crystal nodded, face pale. "I promise to you, I will keep you safe from him. But I need you to trust me and do _exactly_ as I say. Can you do that?"

Crystal gulped, but nodded again. Miri stood and taking her hand, led her over to the far corner, away from the door. She gently pushed the girl into sitting down there and crouched again. She wove her power as she spoke, straining to keep it contained, let nothing leak out to alert the undead.

"Ok, in just a sec, I'm going to hide you. You'll feel something wrapping around you. Don't panic, that's just me. As long as you feel that 'something' still in place, don't move or talk. It will keep you hidden, make you invisible. But only if it isn't disturbed. If something–" Miri swallowed hard, "if something happens to me or I have to leave, don't worry. Just stay still. Wait until you feel the wrap disappear. That will be morning. Then I want you to go straight to the office and call the number I'll give you. Ask for Aiden or Stefan. Say that you need to see the purple panda bears. They'll know I sent you. Tell them what's happened. They'll take care of you. You got all that?"

Crystal nodded. Miri gave her the number, made her repeat it three times, then stood. The undead wasn't far away now. A few blocks. Maybe. Raising her finger to her lips in a final hushing motion, Miri trigger the weave. Immediately Crystal flickered and disappeared, while simultaneously Miri's own shields took on the ragged patchy weave that had marked Crystal's. Miri double checked the weave, but to all senses Crystal had vanished. A last, tiny spark of power sent Crystal's lingering scent out the door, following the other students.

Miri took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Now all she could do . . . was wait.


End file.
